Getting real tired of your bullsheet, Sherlock!
by 0DestielForever0
Summary: This takes place at the Buckingham Palace, from the episode A Scandal in Belgravia. I decided to add my little twist on it, please leave reviews. The story obviously incomplete and I will write more, depending on how many reviews/requests it gets. Thank you! Rated M for future content.


It hadn't been the first time that John had seen Sherlock in a sheet, if it wasn't for his superiority complex he might admit that he liked it.

As John was taken to the main corridor of the palace, he saw Sherlock sitting uncomfortably on a couch, looking terribly out of place. Yet at the same time, it looked like he belonged. His black hair fell into a messy river of curls along the base of his porcelain neck. A white sheet was wrapped around him and he glanced over at the door where John stood. John gave him a questioning look before Sherlock answered with a shrug.

John sighed inwardly before joining Sherlock on the couch, glancing around the room.  
The men who had come and taken John to the Buckingham Palace were rough with him and he could feel the bruises beginning to accrete on his arms. For an army doctor, he did bruise quite easily. John bit his lip gently before turning to glance at Sherlock, his gaze lowering for a moment.

"Are you wearing any pants?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock didn't bother to turn and look at John before answering "No".

"Okay.." he looked away.

They both turned their heads for a moment at looked each other in the eye before they began giggling. Sherlock's throaty chuckle warmed John's heart and he sighed softly.

"I'm seriously fighting an urge to steal an ashtray.." he chuckled and shook his head

"What are we doing here, Sherlock...seriously, what?" John questioned.

"I don't know.." Sherlock answered.

"Here to see the Queen?" he asked. It was a possibility, Sherlock's cases were beginning to get ridiculously famous and before long, he wouldn't be considered a private consulting detective anymore.

Steps were approaching the room before Sherlock mumbled "Oh, apparently, yes."

John's eyes widened and he looked toward the opening to see Mycroft joining them. They both burst into laughter once again, since Sherlock's accusation was more than truth.

"Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?" Mycroft asked in a frustrated tone, noting that his brother was wrapped in a sheet.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants..I wouldn't hold on too much hope," John answered.

Mycroft picked up the clothes that were neatly folded on the table, holding them out to Sherlock.

"We are in Buckingham Palace—the very HEART of the British Nation, Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on!" Mycroft snarled.

"What for?" Sherlock countered, shrugging slightly.

"Your client."

"and who IS my client?" Sherlock asked, rising from his seat.

Another man entered the room dressed in an expensive suit and striped tie, he obviously worked for the Queen.

"Illustrious…in the extreme" the man spoke, "..and Remaining, I must inform you, entirely anonymous."

"May I just apologize for the state of my little brother" Mycroft spoke in patronizing tone.

"Full time occupation, I imagine. So this is Sherlock Holmes, the younger? You look taller in your photos.." the man replied in a snooty note.

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend" Sherlock replied. "Mycroft," Sherlock turned to his older brother. "I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used mystery on one end of my case, mystery on two ends is too much work. Good morning" Sherlock turned and headed for the door.

Mycroft's jaw locked and his teeth clenched. He extended his foot and stepped on the sheet, making it tumble from around Sherlock's shoulders, exposing his back and the top of his ass. The detective grabbed the rest of it just in time before it fell below his waist.

John's cheeks flushed and he stood, watching them argue.

"This is a matter of national importance" Mycroft said, no longer hiding his anger, "Grow up!"

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock grumbled like an angry five-year-old.

"Or what?" Mycroft countered.

"Or I'll just walk away," he backfired.

"I'll let you."

"Boys, please" John stepped in, "Not here.."

"Come John, we're leaving," Sherlock stated, walking out of the door and into the courtyard of the most extravagant home had probably ever been in.

John followed without a word and they hailed a cab.

When they entered the flat, the atmosphere changed. Sherlock literally let the sheet drop in the middle of the floor and John turned his head, staring at the kitchen.

"You could have at least waited until you were in your room, you sociopath," John swallowed hard before turning and walking into the kitchen to make tea.

Not even thirty seconds had passed before he felt long, warm, limbs, sliding under his jumper and onto the soft, patch of hair that trailed down to his groin.

His eyes widened momentarily before he shuddered and spoke in a shaky breath.

"Sherlock..w-what are you doing?" John flushed a dark red.

"I saw you watching..I see everything John," Sherlock nuzzled the back of John's neck and exhaled a hot breath, rising goosebumps.

John turned and faced Sherlock, his back pressed against the stove.

"You said you were married to your w-" he was cut off by Sherlock's lips pressed messily to his.


End file.
